


Nolanverse Bane gains a Gotham foot slave

by Aayla8978



Series: Footmasters from around the Fandoms [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bane is an experienced Footmaster, Boots - Freeform, Brutality, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Foot Domination, Foot Fetish, Foot Smelling, Gotham/Nolanverse crossover, He thinks Bruce needs punishment, Leashes, M/M, Scent Kink, Stomping, Sweaty Feet, ballbusting, foot worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aayla8978/pseuds/Aayla8978
Summary: Crossover work. Nolanverse Bane comes to Wayne manor. His target? Spoilt Rich kid of Gotham (TV) Bruce Wayne. His employers want the kid alive or dead. Bane wants to teach him some manners. Bruce learns Bane has no mercy...and very sweaty feet.
Relationships: Bane/Bruce Wayne, Tom Hardy/David Mazouz
Series: Footmasters from around the Fandoms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599982
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Nolanverse Bane gains a Gotham foot slave

Wayne Manor. A foolish decision to rely on mere technology as a source of security. All it takes is one virus, one glitch to render it all useless. Disconnected from the world.

Bane stood behind the hacker at the front gate as they rushed to do their job. Impatience boiled behind Bane's eyes as he simply placed his booted foot on the back of the man's head. There was a noticeable speed increase of typing as he did so.

When the front gate opened a huff hissed out from Bane's mask. The job was done. What need was the hacker now? Best to see how he operates under pressure. The foot continued to weigh down until their face was on the ground. Mad flailing before a meaty crunch surfaced as Bane simply stepped down to walk up the path.

A bloodied bootprint stained the halls of Wayne manor. A beam of light had tracked them. Alfred trying to identify the source. But as the tracks go dry a force grips him by the neck. One push is all Bane needed to have the ex-soldier's spine crumple against the bookshelf.

Bane dragged the body towards the study. The moon gave of a brilliant illumination as He twisted Alfred's form into something more proper. Limbs snapped as he forced him into an ottoman, Bane sat upon the couch and propped his feet upon the butler's back and waited.

Bruce slept in the dark ever since he’d watched his parent’s murder. He didn’t feel comfortable in the light anymore. But when he caught the exterior lights of the manor blinking off out of the corner of his eye. He knew something was wrong. He eased out of bed and tiptoed to his bedroom window. 

He saw a large figure striding up the driveway, if he strained his ears, he could hear the gravel crunch under heavy booted feet. He rushed to turn on the lamp on his bedside table. But found it powerless. He grunted in frustration and fear as he fumbled for a torch inside the drawer. Finding it, he started prowling slowly through the halls in silent search of Alfred. 

Before long, he came across something bizarre and frightening: a single bloody footprint, then another, then another. He followed all the way to the living room. His torchlight barely illuminated it. As the beam travelled upwards, he caught sight of something. The sole of a bloodied and dirtied combat boot. His breaths started to come in shallow stabs as he realised what the boots were resting on. “A-Alfred?” He gasped in a squeaky voice. 

The boy's steps were nearly silent, not from training but the lack of weight to them. And here Bane thought the rich ate well. As the light struck his boots he couldn't help but retreat them as if ashamed to be viewed in such a time. They are brought to the floor with a heavy thunk.

Anchored to the floor Bane lifted himself up as he stepped over the creative art piece, "Do not concern yourself with the help, Master Wayne." His fingers laced themselves against his vest as he marched forward. His steps steady and quaking until he stood in front of Bruce.

"For he has found new purpose. As shall you by night's end." All the fiddling around with trying to avenge the death of his parents wasn't a healthy distraction. There were people who needed Bruce to focus on other things. And that was Bane's position, break the mind not the body. 

Bruce started to quake as he realised Alfred wasn’t getting up. Ever. He caught a quick glimpse of a man in a mask before his eyes locked to the floor. Terrified. 

He’d had bad experiences with men in masks, doubly so now that they were responsible for killing everyone he cared about. He heard the man’s heavy clothes shuffle as he got to his feet. Every step towards him made Bruce flinch. Getting louder and louder until he was nearly hyperventilating. He stared at the floor. Until he saw a huge pair of boots step into the light. A small whimper escaped his lips as he saw the fairly large amount of blood adorning them. 

Slowly, he looked up. And up, and up. It seemed this hulking muscle monster was three times his size. Bruce felt pure terror take over his body as he once again saw the face of this intruder. Those eyes. Those inhuman eyes. Bruce suddenly came to his senses when he saw those cold blue eyes. He turned and started to run. 

This was quite the puzzle, how to make someone give in without force. Bane dropped his hand to Bruce's shoulder. He couldn't even place the entire palm and had to set it sideways. His fingers formed a cage on the side of Bruce's head, all he had to do was close his fist and it would all be over. Instead he kept applying pressure until the boy's knees would buckle and give in.

"Master Wayne? Is this how you treat a guest that comes into your home? With silence? I am disappointed." He shook his head, "But you may also be disappointed with me, for I have tracked some of the outside all over your delicate floors. Do you forgive me?"

Bruce didn’t expect to get far. He ran on instinct. On the faint chance he could hide or get to a phone or something. But he immediately felt himself stop dead as a meaty hand found his shoulder. He could see the outline of the man’s fingers in the dark. Feel the heat coming off his hands. Smell the dirt and sweat embedded in his nails. The whole experience reminded Bruce of a ghoul from a fairy tale. Only this was all too real, as he discovered when he felt his knees buckle and fell onto the shiny wooden floor, skidding slightly from his momentum.

He turned, trembling, to see those boots. Advancing on him. As Bane spoke. The unnatural mechanic voice put him even more at unease. If that was even possible. But that air of politeness. Bruce almost failed to notice the air of malice behind it. It gave him courage enough to speak. Though he immediately regretted it.

“I-I...I’d like you to leave please.” He stammered. Trying to meet the behemoth eye to eye, but instead cowering and looking at his boots. 

The whimpering barely made it to Bane's ears. With his breathing converted into a mechanical hiss, it was difficult to care about anything beyond that. He kept his eyes on the boy who bowed and remained as such try to make a plea for him to leave. A fair method, this was nothing more than a conversation. But a message must be sent.

Bane's boot slid out of Bruce's view as he marched away. Stomps reverberating throughout the room until they tapered off in the distance. 

A second passed. Seconds formed into a minute. And as Bane focused on silencing his massive form the stomping returned as he burst back into the room with an uproar, "Aaaah, I cannot leave without cleaning my mess! It would be rude of me to. Come. You must oversee me as the owner of the house, ensure everything is up to snuff." Bane lifts Bruce by the collar of his shirt before moving over to Alfred's body.

He slipped the man's belt from the loops while placing a foot upon the body. One tug and the entire structure collapsed as he obtained the leather belt. Wrapping it around Bruce's neck he formed the best leash he'll get at this moment. The boy is dropped from his grip by one hand only for the excess of the belt strap to snap and keep him hoisted in the air. For the first time Bane is able to look Bruce in the eye, albeit held up by his own hand.

"Yes. Come." He allows the boy's foot to scrape along the floor as he dragged him along the air towards the end of the bloodied bootprint. Bane dropped the slack letting Bruce smack into the floor, "Lick."

Bruce almost felt hopeful as the menacing intruder retreated. But as the seconds passed. He was filled with an overwhelming wave of dread. He was almost gearing up to run again, when a bombastic voice made him jump. He felt a strong, unyielding hand hoist him with terrifying ease into the air by his collar. He whimpered slightly, trying his best to be quiet. To be brave like Alfred taught him. 

Alfred. Who now lay dead and undignified on his ottoman. Bruce made a horrified squeak as he saw bane besmirch Alfred’s memory with his booted foot, digging in like a doormat. It was only when Bruce heard the crash, reacting with a yelp, that he noticed the belt. Too late to realise what was happening, he felt it pulled tight around his throat. A strangled moan died just before it reached his lips, as he was let hang before his captor. He choked for a moment, forced to lock eyes with this monster. To his utter horror, he saw only fury and pleasure in bane’s eyes. He continued to struggle weakly and choke as he was dragged over to the bloody bootprint. As he dropped to the floor, he felt a bruise start to form on his head. 

“Lick”

What?!? Bruce looked at the print, which twice exceeded the size of his head. He might have refused, if the boot want also in his field of vision. Whatever it did to earn that blood, was probably what happened to Alfred, and what would happen to him if he didn’t...

He leaned down and quickly began to lap at the blood like a sick dog. Making noises of disgust, muffled by his constricting leash. 

Bane stared down as he wondered what thoughts worked their way into such a privileged head. To have orders barked out by a brute, would he swear or perhaps beg for mercy. Maybe money would be thrown his way. Bane expected many responses all of which involved a bit of a struggle. Only for his expectations to have shattered when with little hesitation the boy's tongue pressed against the bloodied floor.

The slobbering of tongue against cool marble gave Bane pause. For how simple this job was turning out. Was this supposed to be the boy determined to find his parents' killer or some whelp. Guess training would take less effort than he thought. The boot sailed overhead before landing in front of Bruce's head. The heel crashed down but a narrow centimeter from his bowed head.

The smell of earth and leather soaked vinegar radiated from the single boot before it lifted again to carry Bane's mass. As he gained further distance away he tugged at Bruce's leash. Forcing him to follow forward at the rest of the bloodied prints. However he was also leaving behind more tracks in the process.

Bane found himself circling multiple times. But he was aware of the loop and waited for Bruce to perhaps speak up.

Bruce jumped and froze as a boot slammed down in his peripheral vision. He made a noise, not from the fright, but from the brief stink that entered his nose.

As he watched bane start to pace, he felt the grip on his leash tighten. His tongue was dragged across the floor as he struggled to follow on his hands and knees. The proud youth’s cheeks started to burn red. This was undignified. He was a coward. He started to ramp himself up. Following bane in circles, realising the futility. Until finally. He stopped, pulled back on the leash and said firmly. “Stop! Get out of my house!” With as much force as he could muster. Ruined slightly by his voice being two octaves higher than normal. 

Bane felt what could best be described as a breeze against his fingers. But in reality it was some form of resistance from the orphan. He had paused only to turn by the waist. His head rotated to take the boy's look of anger behind his eyes.

Behind the mask a smile worked its way up his face. But his eyes clearly held some glee. Bane dropped the leash to the floor. "Wishing it won't make it so, Master Wayne. If you want something done, it must be done with your own hands." His arms outstretched he awaited some form or tactical offense. If the boy advances upon him he'll allow a few strikes. But if he should decide to run, Bane shall cease that in an instant with a slam of his foot onto the fallen belt.

Bruce was at war with himself. One half wanting to fight his sadistic oppressor with everything he had. The other half wanting to do whatever he said out of pure undiluted terror. The sides fought it out as he watched the hulking behemoth raise his arms.

Bruce gulped. He’d already proved that running was futile. He tried to remember what Alfred had taught him. “If you’re going to beat a big man, you have to outlast him.” Bruce had no idea how he’d do this. But then he remembered something else. Sometimes, the only way was to fight dirty.

He punched, with all his inconsiderable might, aiming for Bane’s manhood. Before quickly reaching for a nearby vase. Surely he could incapacitate the man like this. 

A frontal assault! Bane's blood boiled with excitement only to be let down. The punch to his crotch was pointless. He didn't understand what deflated his ego more, the fact a child would dare to make such a strike. Or that anyone would think he wasn't wearing a cup with all this. That was certainly enough out of the whelp.

Bane brought the heel of his boot down on the belt and slid his foot back. The was an immediately snap as all motion ceased from Bruce. He kept reeling Bruce in by dragging his foot until the boy was right in range for him to drop his other foot onto his chest. Bane merely rested his foot there, the heel dug into Bruce's abdomen while the tip of his shoe smacked into his chin.

"Was that your show of strength? Did you feel powerful? How about now?" Slowly the boot started to apply pressure.

Just as his small hands clasped the vase, he felt a sharp force on his neck. Choking him and yanking him to the ground. An angry red mark appeared on his neck, before bruise could contemplate this new burning sensation. A massive, heavy boot found its home on his small chest.

The force of the boot dropping, though minimal for Bane, was breathtaking in the worst possible way for Bruce. He struggled for air from this sudden double assault. Through his choking he tried to muster an apology. 

That’s when the pressure started to increase. Bruce immediately started gasping for air and scrabbling desperately at Bane’s ankles. Wriggling like a madman trying to escape this horrible constricting feeling. His eyes locked with bane’s as he choked on his boot. 

Bane teased Bruce. Allowing some of his frantic grappling to appear as if it was doing something. His boot lifted up under his miniscule force. But he's certain the boy's will had started to swell. When Bane's foot had lifted several inches in the air, he leaned forward. Not to apply weight but to undo his laces.

The sight unseen as the bottoms eclipsed Bruce's view. With that done he pulled his foot out. There was hardly a difference in weight. And the only way to know for sure was when Bane stepped down letting his foot land by the side of Bruce's head. His barefoot drenched with sweat with pieces of boot interior littered around.

His foot created steam when touching the cool floor. Sweaty print pooled around. "Why, thank you Master Wayne for relieving me of my boot."

This was it. The fight of his life. Struggling to remove one dusty boot from his heaving chest. It was pathetic. His father would be ashamed. All the same. Bruce put every iota of strength he had left into fighting. He grunted and groaned. Embarrassed that his enemy had him so outmatched. Until finally. Exhilaration. The boot was lifting. He was freeing himself! He was strong!

He heard a fumbling and thought he saw bane shift. Was he struggling too? The thought spurred Bruce to fight harder. The boot seemed less and less heavy by the minute. 

His fight left him in an instant when he heard an ominous, Final, slap. Right next to his head. He saw a huge barefoot out of the corner of his eye and turned his head away. Tearing up. He was being toyed with. And he was very uncomfortable with the heat coming from that foot. He started to sniffle like a child. 

Bane smacked the boot out of Bruce's tiny arms. Only to drop his other boot straight onto the boy's chest. More weight than he had planned to apply but he didn't exactly see the problem. He would have the best doctors fix anything that might break. The body wasn't important, just the mind.

He continued to press down on Bruce's chest. Feeling the ribcage starting to buckle. "Release yourself from this pain, unlace my boot and hold onto it so I can free my foot. Only then shall this suffering come to an end." This suffering in particular.

Bruce let out his loudest scream yet as the heavy foot landed on his rib cage. He heard a sickening creak, as though Bane were rending his bones with one simple step. He let out a series of sharp yelps and groans as he fumbled at the boot.

He’d only heard bane’s instruction on a purely instinctual level. The rest was all focused on this immense pressure. This unbearable pain. But he knew that somehow, this boot was his lifeline. He grabbed onto it and fumbled for what felt like years of agony, before finally pulling at the tight knot and feeling it come free. As he moaned and writhed, he held onto the boot for dear life. Because it was his life. 

Bane took a few curious small rotations of his foot. Letting the boot grind into the boy's brittle body, the sight of the spoiled orphan's face scrunched in pain gave an unapparelled delight to the brute. For what did he truly know about pain? Surrounded by wealth and comfort, the world has coddled him from true pain.

But he shall learn.

His other foot took its time to free as the tiny hands latched onto the massive boot. Soon his toes had felt the breeze of cool air. The boot falls to the side and Bane brought the wet sole down onto Bruce's face. "Now for the next trial." The entire face blotted beneath Bane's sole. He felt the wriggling of lips parting and the small nose crumple.

Even as he clasped onto the footwear tightly. Bruce recognised his captor wanted to draw this out. Most likely for his own sick pleasures. He tried his hardest to shut his mouth. To take the pain. But with every grind of Bane’s powerful foot came a new wave of agony. He was screeching through gritted teeth when the threatening bare foot finally came free. 

The sight of it quickly squashed out any feeling of relief. He had come to associate Bane’s feet with the purest of torture. 

And he knew it wasn’t going to stop there. Before he could even start to wriggle away. The sole had landed on his face. Bruce was left in a world of heat and dirt and stink. An alternate reality more terrible than anything in his world. He opened his mouth to scream as he felt his nose crushed. And found it muffled by bane’s sweating soles. Tears streamed down his face. His squashed nose thankfully preventing him from experiencing the true horror of bane’s feet for the time being. But he could certainly taste it. And that was enough to make him wish for death. 

Bane counted the seconds. He knew how much time could be spent beneath his foot. He's practiced it hundreds of times on men, granted they were of larger capacity, in size, lungs and all around. There a tacky sensation as he lifts his foot, Bruce's face seemingly peeling off from the sole as his head bounced to the floor.

Bane allowed a few desperate breathes of fresh air. Well, air. It was no longer fresh as it was filter through his foot. After hearing a few mighty gulps and gasp of air, he would drop his foot down again. "Yes, you must learn when to open your mouth and when to keep it shut." Bane spoke as if to construct this as some type of lesson.

"If you wish to gain allies you must weave and wield a silver tongue." He once again lifted his foot but this time shifted it downward. The balls of his foot rest on Bruce's chin causing it to descend, the long toes over lapped and wiggled near the mouth's opening. 

Bruce could sense bane taking pleasure from every passing moment. That’s what frightened him most of all. The taste and feel of Bane’s foot was too much for his young mind to handle. He was confused. Terrified. Angry. He could feel Bane’s foot start to sweat as it heated on his face. This made him retch. 

As the foot finally lifted and he could breathe, he felt it. A wave of pure stink. Unlike anything else. Invade his senses. Twist his will. Bruce felt lightheaded, as though he had a cold. His tears continued to stream as he was forced to smell Bane’s feet. His mouth agape. In shock and confusion. As though the stink had a mind of its own and was slowly eroding his. 

When Bane’s foot returned, Bruce flinched. And when he heard the words. Felt the foot prodding and poking. Out of pure terror, a wish for it to end, a wish to do as the man said and have him leave. He did the unthinkable. 

He began to lick bane’s sweaty bare toes. 

The wet tongue worked its way against the pads of Bane's toes. Carrying away the grime and sweat. Bane's feet had a greasy stain that covered the entirety of his foot, minus the slope of his arch.

A twisted laugh came from Bane. Not from his taste in entertainment but how it was distorted through the mask. Bane's other foot smacked open Bruce's legs, preparing a proper position for him to send his foot flying down the lane.

The foot bashed into the boy's balls and was certainly going to leave make the boy impotent in the future. That was how one delivered a crushing blow, "Are you trying to tickle me? is that how you wish to achieve victory against me? Make me laugh to death, a schemer you are? Surely, you have seen a dog lick. Envision it. Keep it in your mind. A dog. Loyal. Obedient."

The massive foot slides back upon Bruce's face burying him under the spoiled flesh. He makes a point this time to press down harder and hold him in place longer. "Go on. Think of it. Be the dog."

Where once there had been a battle between the parts of Bruce’s mind that wanted to fight and the parts that wanted to flee. Now it was a battle between the parts that were Bruce and the parts that were Bane. Bruce could feel it, a part of him being eroded away as though by acid...well, it might well be acid. Bane’s feet were hardly for the faint of heart. 

He felt a little more like himself on Bane’s likening him to a dog. Perhaps for the first time, he realised what he was doing. Before he had time to recoil in horror, his thoughts drifted to the leash around his neck and a new wave of fear for his...master? No! Never! 

The debate was put to rest as he felt the foot come over him again. Transported once more to a world of heat and musk. He started to whimper. To bane it must have sounded like a good dog. In reality, Bruce was simply in agony. 

Such a sorrowful sound, it was almost moving. Bane rotated his neck until several cracks surfaced. Getting stiff in this position. The foot is returned to the floor but a chance to lick his toes isn't offered. The feet were too busy relocating Bruce. He swiftly kicked the boy's side to send him sliding down the hall. He collected his boots and followed after. The boots laced together and hung around Bane's neck.

With the skill of a professional soccer player, the foot came to collide with Bruce. Skipping him along the floor until he Bane found a room he'd prefer. It had a couch. While Bane contemplated using it he rested the broad sole on Bruce's coiled up form. Stepping down with his full weight he walked on and over the boy into the room.

Sitting upon the couch caused the legs to dig into the floor while the material groaned. "Brucie. Enter. As dogs do. My feet await your tongue."

As the feet finally left his field of vision. Bruce looked up, not quite hopeful...but curious. Had this been enough? Had his cruel new master finally seen fit to show mercy? 

He felt five powerful toes answer his question, as He was sent flying nearly ten feet across the hall. He skidded for a while before coming to a stop. Gasping dangerously, a deep purple bruising on his stomach. The shape forever reminding him of the toes that brought him to heel. He started crawling. Staggering would be a better word. Desperately cowering away from the advancing behemoth. Who simply delivers a second strike. Bruce felt spit and blood fly out of his mouth and dribble down his chin. His vision clouded. His senses dulled. He writhed on the floor. Barely conscious. The foot brought him back to reality, he flinched. Shaking under it. More terrified of Bane’s bare feet than his boots had ever made him feel. As he felt bane’s full weight compress his stomach. He heard a gruesome crunch as a rib cracked. He yelled. Or at least. Tried to. His lungs were free of air. Only a feeble whimper could escape him. 

Upon bane’s latest orders. He scrambles to complete them. Staggering forward towards the powerful feet that could end him. He looks bane briefly in the eye before bowing his head and licking the dirt and blood off his feet. Starting with the calloused heels. 

Bruce's tongue had better luck giving lift to sandpaper as it scraped along Bane's heel. From some weird trick, Bane's foot was both moist and dry, the calloused areas abrasive texture scratching up the sensitive tongue. 

"Good. Obey." Bane praised as he lowered his massive palm over the boy's head. He gave it a few pats which for him was gentle. But in reality was the same as dribbling a ball against the floor. When he noticed Bruce hadn't decided to get up on his own, Bane used his toes to clamp at the boy's now messied hair. A simple lift and he could get a good look at Bruce. Almost no life in the boy's eyes.

"Come now, Brucie, you must stay awake." Bane removed the boots from his neck and lifted it to Bruce's nose. With his foot he pushed him forward. His entire face cleared the opening of the shoe but couldn't descend properly into the depths of leather boot. The walls seemed endless as did the rising stench. Darkness consumed all of Bruce's sight leaving him to rely on smell.

A harsh fusion of mold and vinegar ran rampant inside the boot. Added with it the harsh heat and one could question if it counted as a nerve gas.

Bruce felt like he was running on autopilot as his eyes began to droop. The only thing still working was his tongue. Which quickly dried out. He couldn’t remember why he was doing this. All he felt was fear and exhaustion. 

As the massive hand patted his head. It was like a concussion grenade. He went tumbling to the floor. The cool wood a sharp relief after a long evening of Bane’s hot feet. 

The relief was short lived as he felt strong digits take root in his hair and yank him back up. Rising to meet what looked like a black hole.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Bane’s boot was like the eraser to Bruce’s pencil. Every huff of the noxious foot odour chipped away at Bruce’s sense of self. Until he was left with only three core feelings: Terror, exhaustion, and obedience. His whole body went limp as he breathed in Bane’s foot smell. 

Bane considered his boot to be a reviving agent. Its awaken people before but then again he's never had to lay a beatdown onto a such a small creature. He noticed a distinctive slack as dead weight took over Bruce's body. Removing the boot he went to shake Bruce with his toes still gripping over the boy.

When nothing decided to react he threw him to the floor and stood up. The hulking feet landed on both sides of Bruce's head. "Playing dead are we? That isn't allowed. Wake up. Now." Bane set his foot on Bruce's head with it laid to the side he had a full range to balance upon it. Still his toes curled beyond the boy's head.

"You have by the count of ten to arise." Bane immediately started to push down. Calf muscles clenching as his strength is truly applied. He wouldn't be outdone by a simple child.

Bruce’s mind had reduced itself to its core components. He was barely aware as Bane’s powerful foot threw him to the floor. Barely aware as he heard two sweaty soles slapping against hardwood close to his ears, though that did make him moan.

He only really felt his conscious mind come back, when it was too late. One last whiff of Bane’s foot odour. And he was covered. A world of black and white. He felt toes curl around his head. As if his head were a mere cantaloupe in the grip of an ape. He nearly screamed. But never got the chance.

With a strange pop. His skull cracked under Bane’s bare foot. 

Bane should have admired such strength. But he wasn't the one to be tested. He kept pushing down until the slight fractures gave way to a gushing mess. His entire foot soiled with the thoughts and dreams of some rich orphan. A shame, he would have been an asset. But Bane was certain he had enough materials for them to clone.

Or maybe he should bring what's left to the pit. All that seemed to be someone else's decision as he dragged the body back. In an attempt at his previous creation, he snapped the boy's body into a squarish shape. Both feet propped up as he waits for his orders. One sole dripping red.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a roleplay with a friend I adapted into a story. I have quite a lot like this with a huge array of different male characters and celebs so if people like it, let me know 😂😂😂


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